James McMurtry and band rock Boston

Thursday

Oct 26, 2017 at 5:22 AMOct 26, 2017 at 1:48 PM

jaymiller

Call him an Americana songsmith, with folk and country flavors woven into his songs, but James McMurtry is above all else, a rocker and that's what Wednesday night's show before a multi-generational crowd of about 200 fans at Brighton Music Hall proved most decisively.

McMurtry's quartet played 18 songs over their one hour, fifty-minute set, and while there were some delectable acoustic moments, the main thrust of the night was gritty rock 'n' roll framing his detailed tales of heartland Americans.

Of course, with McMurtry, everything is about shadings and nuance, so the lively rockin' edge of the night could be seen as a reminder that even struggling folks can have fun, yet behind the good times, serious matters await. In other words, superb rock 'n' roll that made you think.

The night opened with “Bayou Tortous,” a midtempo thumper from 2008

that balanced a jaunty chorus –”Turtle Bayou, turn around”– with deft description of some lives on the edge. The first few songs were done by the trio of McMurtry on guitar, with Daren Hess on drums, and Cornbread on bass. The swampy feel of “Red Dress” gave that slightly downbeat romantic musing a visceral anchor, while the chunk-chunka rhythm of “What's The Matter Now?” accentuated the comic desperation of the traveling musician trying to make sense of his home life.

“Just Us Kids” turned into a steamy guitar showcase, even as McMurtry's lyrics took some well traveled workingman's themes and delivered them with fresh immediacy. Guitarist Tim Holt joined the band for the fifth song, “How'm I Gonna Find You Now?” from McMurtry's last album, 2015′s “Complicated Game,” a tune describing a middle-aged, down-on-his-luck Lothario speeding off to meet his bartender/flame, with tragicomic zeal. “Copper Canteen,” also from that last CD, depicts another imperfect romance, two married folks who persevere through years of toil, and Holt's accordion accents gave it a real elegiac aura.

McMurtry's acoustic guitar was the focal point of the stately ballad “You Got to Me,” but naturally it's not a typical love song, but a multi-layered vignette of a romance that seems to have never happened, at least not the way the man wanted. But a bit later McMurtry and his band tackled his popular “Choctaw Bingo,” a rock-steady talking blues that depicts several stories woven around the idea of poor folks trying to get rich, or at least a few bucks ahead. The fiery two-guitar squall was approaching its peak, when McMurtry noted, between verses, “ten minutes into the song and we're just getting to the good parts,” but the grit and pull of the groove was so strong that they could've played it for another ten minutes.

Another indelible acoustic moment came when McMurtry played “These Things I've Come to Know” solo, giving that affectionate paean to a special lady added depth and feeling. Recalling how he'd first played the next song while opening for Jerry Jeff Walker in 1989, McMurtry and the band uncorked a dazzling rock charge through “Paint By Numbers,” a vignette about taking the safe route in life, but regretting it ever after. Holt was back on accordion for “Every Little Bit Counts,” a slower rock thumper, delivered in a more minimalist way.

One of the night's most torrid numbers was “Childish Things,” a song about finally embracing maturity, (causing us to think of the last few lines of Pete Gent's novel of pro football, “North Dallas Forty”), and Holt turned in a blazing guitar solo to give it a real jolt. The opening notes of “Levelland” prompted quite an audience reaction, and that song about living in the wide open spaces rocked with abandon. Closing the regular set, McMurtry's first hit, “Too Long In the Wasteland” took that swamp-rock sound into a more angular direction, portraying the general angst of folks living their lives always wanting more–a feeling enhanced by a psychedelic coda with bent notes and wah-wah effects.

For their only encore, McMurtry (on acoustic guitar) and the band did a heartfelt rendition of “No More Buffalo,” his song about the disappearing West, delivering it with equal parts wistful regret and impetus to somehow stop it before it's too late.